The past seven years or so have been a slow ride down the side of a mountain into a ravine as far as my looks are concerned. I drastically changed my life such that vanity went out of the window a long time ago. I gained about 25 pounds, my hair has never really looked chef’s kiss in a long time and my face has relics of angry eruptions. I never really look at myself in the mirror. I recently went for a walk with someone and he mentioned (in amazement) that I never looked at my reflection in windows as we walked. This is something I kind of recognize.
The drastic life change is the first factor that led to this reflection-blindness that I practice. However, another is quite possibly age. The life change saw my interpersonal interactions reduced to nearly none. For the first time in a very long time, my days stretched ahead of me with no regard to how someone perceived my looks, my abilities or my personality. Each day, I was my true, authentic self because I did not tailor the presentation of myself to the person or situation in front of me. That was so refreshing! It was almost like an extended period of vegging out at home eating ice cream while wearing ugly sweatpants. Except I was out and about. The other part is that I’ve hit the age where I don’t care about trivial things the way I once did. Someone else’s perception of my looks is pretty trivial at this stage.
Despite my blatant disregard for my looks, it is during the past few years that I’ve had men (young ones especially) go out of their way to tell me that I’m sexy. Little did they know, this phrase is the kiss of death. The only times I’ve consciously dressed to look sexy is when I would go to the club to party. I haven’t done that in years. I did/do dress in clothes that I consider to be fashionable and flattering because I did dream of being a fashion designer after all. That is to be expected.
This past weekend I experienced two incidents that made me really look at myself in the mirror. Saturday, I was walking into a building. There were people leaving and one of the women in that group of people held the door open for everyone. When my turn came to enter, she continued holding the door for me. I said thank you to her for holding the door open for me (there have been so many times the door is released as if I’m not even there). As I walked in, she exclaimed that I was so beautiful. I thanked her and was about to walk away. She then explained that she was a photographer and that I was very beautiful. At that point, it felt awkward because I could feel myself the undivided center of her attention. After having performed in a talent show years ago, I recognize being the undivided center of attention is overwhelming for me, be it one person or a roomful of people. I also had to pee (thus the reason for me coming into the building). Nature’s call ended the Joe Cocker moment definitively.
Sunday, I was on the metro and a man entered. He walked past me and sat down. Once seated, he said hello. I said hello in return and he immediately exclaimed that I was so beautiful. He repeated it quite a few times. There is a slight disclaimer to this one – he was an alcoholic and had already imbibed quite a bit of the 40 ounces the bottle held. He wasn’t completely out of his head because we had a conversation until he arrived at his stop. Before leaving, he said that he wished he could take a picture of me with his phone because I was so beautiful.
I have no idea what magical mojo was swirling around me this past weekend but it obviously made me beautiful in a way two strangers felt the need to effusively tell me, in no uncertain terms, that they found me to be beautiful.
I’ll go with it.
Category: Musings
In Vino Veritas
I don’t drink but naturally find myself in situations with those who do. Recently, I came face to face with the old Latin saying, “In vino veritas” or “in wine, truth.”
Almost a month ago, I met a man who seemed to be head over heels about me. To the point that he instantly mentioned marriage. I do wish to be married but I recognize it may take a little while to get to know one another before making that commitment (been there, regretfully done that). One of the things that came up during our initial conversation was the fact that he had a three year-old whose mother died a year ago. He said that he is really motivated to have a good mother for his son. I do want children and didn’t have an issue with being an instant mother/step-mother. After having lost my own mother, I especially was touched by the idea of this young, motherless child needing a maternal influence in his life.
We continued to talk from time to time and each conversation included his desire to marry me and a pledge of devotion to me on his part. However, wine recently introduced an element to our conversation that had been lacking – the truth. It turns out, his son’s mother is very much alive and well and taking care of him! The truth (according to him and the wine) is that she is not very intelligent and would be unable to raise him to be a well-rounded person, comfortable in the world. I, on the other hand, would be a great benefit to his son because of my comparative intelligence. In addition, in his view of things, his son’s mother would be almost like a lady-in-waiting for me. She would be called upon to take care of me and guide me (the son, mother and, sometimes, father live in another country whose native tongue is Spanish) on a day-to-day basis.
Prior to meeting this person, I did (and still do) have a place in my heart for someone else who may not have an interest in marriage. In an attempt to be honest, I did mention that person when the topic came up. The Lazarus-ian Baby Mama? Crickets.
Needless to say, I needed a drink after that ill-fated conversation. There were other elements of the conversation as well but the biggest part of the conversation was the “veritas” the “vino” revealed.
Now, if the honest marriage-minded person would please step forward…
In Sickness and In Health
I’ve attended a few weddings recently (three within the course of two weeks or so) and find myself truly thinking about the gravity of the vows. Wedding vows, of course, are made at the start of the marriage. Although there can be health issues already present at the start of the marriage, frequently the severity of existing health issues unfolds later. It is in those times that the couple’s commitment to the vows spoken in the beginning are tested.
This year has brought a couple to the forefront of my mind because of their ongoing commitment in the face of extreme health issues. Sadly, their vows ended with death doing them part.
I met the couple two years ago. I did not have a car at the time and they graciously offered to bring me to the last leg of my morning trek. Their graciousness was truly appreciated during my time of need. In riding with them together, and the husband separately, I was able to witness the high level of care they had for each other. She did not work because of complications from an old car accident that wouldn’t allow her to sit at an office for hours on end. However, she did drop him off and pick him up each day from the commuter lot where our workdays officially began and ended. He, on the other hand, had a medical condition that required him to immediately go home to do a critical at-home treatment. She was always there (or close to being there) to pick him up at the end of the day so that he could start his treatments. With the medical issues they both had, they still maintained a commitment to each others well-being.
Later, he had an unforeseen complication that wreaked havoc on the already fragile state of affairs his health was in. Their time and energy were devoted to trying to stabilize his health. Simultaneous to his downturn, she too had critical concerns with her health that needed to be addressed. In caring for him, she frequently pushed her own medical issues by the wayside. She and I would speak infrequently on the phone but would make up for lost time by the length of the calls.
The last time we spoke, things were moving in a more positive direction for them as a family. One day, I ran into them unexpectedly at the grocery store. It felt really good to see the two of them, him especially because it had been quite a while since I had seen him or spoken to him. He looked in good spirits and seemed like his old self again. About three months’ later, he died. That, potentially, was the last time that I would see either of them as she has probably moved by now.
I am intentionally vague with details because ultimately their story is not my story to tell. But I will share that, in the face of serious medical conditions that severely impacted both of their lives, they were there for each other. My conversations with her invariably included detailed updates on his medical progress as well as hers. My conversations with him showed a concern on his part that she was taken care of in the event that something were to happen to him. They were as committed through the difficulties of sickness as they were in health till death did them part.
You Lead, I Follow (?)
As you can probably tell by the previous video posts, I am somewhat fascinated by tango. So much so that I went to a class almost three years ago in an attempt to learn to tango.
It.
Was.
A.
DISASTER.
I was so awkward. The simple beginner movements were too complex for me to comprehend. My mind and body were simply not in accord with what I was being told and shown.
The ultimate difficulty? Following my partner’s lead.
I can bust a move on the dance floor by myself that could bring some smiles and cheers. However, if you throw in a partner whose direction I must follow, dancing turns into a system failure. I have an almost innate inability to follow and it showed itself with flying colors during my failed attempts to follow my partners during that ill-fated tango class almost three years ago.
Fast forward almost three years later…
If at first you don’t succeed, wait (in this case a long time) and try, try again. I went to the same tango class last week. I was filled with the same level of dread regarding what could have been an impending disaster. Yet, last week I started with my first partner and away we went. I even mentioned to him that I am resistant to being lead and despite my dire warning, away we went. Again. And again. And again.
Thinking it was a fluke of nature that he was a natural born leader, we changed partners and I tried again. And again, away we went. And so it went for the rest of the evening with each successive partner. Was I perfect? By no stretch of the imagination. I had one sequence that I consistently screwed up because I had difficulty remembering not to shift my weight from the correct leg. Despite that consistent error, I was able to successfully complete the sequence several times with each partner.
Although this post primarily relates to tango, on a deeper level, it also points to a problem I have in my general life – an inability and/or resistance to follow the man. The thoughts that come to mind are various statements that I’ve received from men in the past: “you are too independent”; “you just won’t listen”; and “you’re just going to do what you want to do anyway.” A major source of the problem in these past instances (I do want to clarify that these are past instances and there is the possibility for something different in my future) is that I never felt the man spoke with an understanding and concern for my best interest. I viewed what they said through the lens of them making an authoritarian pronouncement they felt I must follow through on. Authoritarianism does not go over well with me. At all. And in the face of authoritarianism, I just won’t listen and I am going to do what I want to do anyway.
The other issue is that I have a fundamental distrust in where they will lead me. In relationships, I have been involved with people who lead (or wanted to lead) me in the direction most beneficial to them, although it was contrary to what may have been best for me. I have been involved with only two people who I would have followed without a second thought. One of the two, I actually verbally stated, “you lead, I’ll follow.” Although I said it in passing, he didn’t realize the gravity of the statement because I meant it beyond the scope of what we were discussing at that exact moment. I implicitly trusted where he would have taken me.
Maybe as I continue to make progress in following with tango, I will be presented with a relationship in which he leads and I DO follow. Because I trust in where he is leading US.
Which One Is Your Kid?
This evening, I decided to go to a capoeira (Brazilian martial arts) class that I had seen on a flyer that I picked up. I LOVE capoeira and thought it would be nice to watch others learn. The one thing I overlooked is that the class is for children. Despite that oversight on my part, I stayed there and watched the children practice. While watching, I started a conversation with one of the parents who was sitting next to me and she asked “which one is your kid?” I stumbled and fumbled for my answer. I told her that I don’t have children and just came to watch the class not realizing it was for children. I enjoyed watching the different children go through the techniques they were being taught. There was a little girl who was good but at the same time hesitant; a little boy (or girl) who had a spring of energy that bubbled up to the surface naturally; a little boy who was doing one technique and looked like a natural in comparison to his older brother; the older brother who found his rhythm at a later moment; and a little girl who was very shy because it was her first time, who aced the techniques in the end; and one teenager who was years older than the others but still going through the techniques just the same. They were a joy to watch. Watching the children with their varying degrees of trepidation and enthusiasm reminded me of my desire to have children. I even said to the parent that I do want to have children, even at the advanced maternal age of 45. We discussed exposing children to multicultural experiences so that they have a well-rounded point of view and are able to exist in multiple environments. I could definitely see bringing my own children to that capoeira class. I would just hope they would be more natural movers than their mother…
In the end, the parent and I exchanged telephone numbers and I’ve now made one new friend. Nothing about the class was as I had expected but it turned out to be just what I needed.
Funny
It’s funny that when people discuss their possessions, they often call them by their brand name. My iPhone, my Nike’s, my Michael Kors, my Benz and on and on. However, when people refer to the people with whom they are in a relationship, oftentimes, the person loses the specificity of their name. My boyfriend. My husband. My wife. My girlfriend. The conversations I’m referring to are not with strangers who don’t really know the person but the conversations with those who already know that there is someone.
And yet.
They are never.
Named.
Poem: Questions
This is a poem that I wrote around 2001 or 2002. If only these questions were relevant for that time period only…
Questions
When I look at you I can see through the toughness to the pain
But when you look at me do you even see the same?
Do you see the me that I am in all of my unique glory?
Or do you see a re-run of your past, “same game, same story”?
Even a blind man can see how much love I have for you
Now, are you waiting for the mute man to shout and tell you what to do?
If I were a cat and had more than one life
Which would you love me in – the first or the ninth?
When you lie alone in bed at night and toss and turn
Is it me, or just someone to fill in the blank, for which you yearn?
When I sit and think of love, I think of you
When you think of love, do you think of me too?
Jason Silva on Why Do We Crave Intimacy
Show Me the Man That You Really Are
After yesterday’s angst anger-filled post, I decided to turn the tables a degree by writing a poem. A gentle poem that conveys a more positive scenario (hopefully to ward off the return of more Saturday Night Guys in a different body). I read a spiritual post this morning about transmutation, changing or transforming something negative into something positive. This is my attempt to do just that.
Show Me the Man That You Really Are
Show me the man that you really are
Not the fancy clothes or the fancy car
Show me the man that you really are
Whether you think you are above average or sub-par
Show me the man that you really are
From a close distance, not from afar
Show me the man that you really are
In the moments of light and the shadows of dark
For after you show me the man that you really are
That is when I will know to give you my love and my heart
Show me the man that you really are.
And that is today’s exercise in transmutation…
Losing My Personhood
Saturday night, I went out to an art fair where local artists exhibited their work at local businesses. The event was complete with food, drinks and music throughout the business district. I randomly strolled through some shops that I had never thought to walk into before. As I strolled solo through the streets, eventually, I ran into someone that I know from being at Starbucks from time to time (the second person that night actually). She was there with her boyfriend.
While standing talking, three men approached and one of them started a conversation complete with introductions all around. A few minutes into the introductions, the direction of his conversation became a little more pointed – was I married, so forth, etc. I deflected his attention with “seeing someone”. He and his friends moved their personal party up the street and we moved mid-street. At one point, I wanted to check out the band that was playing on a corner and drifted off for a second – long enough to re-attract the attention of Mr. Life of the Party. Since I was alone, he had the opportunity to say what he couldn’t say in mixed company.
Initially, his comments were relatively benign.
“I would love to give you my number so that we can go out.”
“I would love to buy you a drink or something to eat.”
“You have a beautiful smile.”
“You really are an attractive woman.”
He went on to explain to me that he had his own house that was paid for and a car that was also paid for. In addition, he mentioned that he ran a company. He made the distinction that he did not OWN the company but could pretty much do as he pleased when it came to his job. He mentioned that he enjoyed going out and having a good time such as what he was doing that night.
At a certain point during the conversation, he made me want to punch him in the mouth…
“You are slim and petite just like I prefer my women. Ahhh, the things we could do together (as voice and thoughts fade off). If I walked into a party with THAT on my arm, everybody would be looking my way.”
This is not an exact replay of what he said because I was not recording his conversation. However, within three minutes of our “private” conversation he had told me he owned his house, he owned his car and had a high-paying job with next-to ultimate responsibility (I’m assuming the level of responsibility had a corresponding level of pay). Too much of the wrong information.
I. HATE. THAT.
In the course of his “eloquently waxing poetic” about my fitting his petite preference, he also completely objectified me by calling me THAT. His exact word, verbatim, was THAT when he referred to my envy-making potential if he made an entrance with me by his side.
I. HATE. THAT. EVEN. MORE.
Am I not a living, breathing person? Do I not have thoughts and feelings? Or am I a vehicle for someone, who is obviously hell-bent on impressing others, to further impress? When did we start conversationally substituting the pronoun you (representing a person) with the pronoun that (representing an object)? Is that en vogue now?
Men who feel an all-consuming need to impress others (me included) are the ultimate turnoff. I was married to someone who was concerned about impressing others. It was frustrating and tiring because every action was calculated for effect. There is no room for doing something just for the hell of it or the love of it when your goal is to impress. Purchases are not made based on the merits of the product but the name associated with the product and, again, the ability to impress. To this day, I feel that we married early so that my ex-husband could have bragging rights of having married before his brother. My ex-husband married me more for my looks than for the way he felt about me. Today, years later, his brother is still married and we, of course, are not.
Post-divorce, I met someone else with whom I was involved. He would talk about his desire for us to take a trip to a town in Florida that is not readily thought of when it concerns Florida. I thought nothing of it. He mentioned his hobbies, one of which was skydiving, which, again, I thought nothing of. He later purchased an Audi two-door convertible sports car. It wasn’t until I went to a party and met several of his friends that I understood that he too was someone overly consumed with the need to not only impress but compete. While at the party, I met a friend that he talked about quite frequently. I also met his girlfriend. The friend’s girlfriend and I looked very similar, I was just younger. During the course of my conversation with the girlfriend, she mentioned that the couple loved to drive down to Florida to the now, not so random town. She even mentioned that he would let the top down in his less fancier, non-Audi but still convertible sportscar on the way down there. One of his hobbies? You guessed it, skydiving. During one conversation, I was presented with all the ways that my boyfriend, whose behavior I could never completely understand, was hellbent on impressing (and even one-upping) one man – his so-called friend. I was just a bit player in a life my boyfriend was imitating while his friend was living his true life.
Ultimately, I would like to have a relationship. Not just the physical relationship that seems to be top of mind for many men, rather an emotional, physical, love and friendship-based relationship. Being referred to as THAT, being seen as a body-type and being used as a proxy for making good impressions is antithetical to that. It is also something of which I’m pretty tired. If anything, let us just be. Together.